Potential Faith
by Flatlander Jr
Summary: Faith's first few weeks as the Slayer, or how Faith met Quentin.


POTENTIAL FAITH   
DANIELLE FRANCES DUCREST

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer _and _Angel_ belong to Joss Whedon, Marti Noxon, David Greenwalt, Sandollar Television, Kuzui Enterprises, Twentieth Century Fox Productions, Greenwolf Corp. (Angel), Warner Bros. Studios (Angel), and UPN (Buffy). Any copyright infringements were no intended. This story was written for entertainment and not for profit.

Rating: R. Think, people. This is a Faith fic, just without sex.

Timing and Spoilers: set during the weeks following "Becoming, Part One" with spoilers for "Faith, Hope, and Trick".

Summary: Faith's first few weeks as a Slayer, or how Faith met the Watchers.

Thanks go to my beta, Grossclout, the Editor From Hell.

*****

The champagne bottle hung in the air for a moment, tantalizingly close. Instincts born in me, instincts I hadn't had a day before and instincts I wouldn't even realize hadn't always been there until many weeks later, warned me in time and made me duck, just at the right moment.

The champagne bottle started moving again. It struck the wall just behind where my head had been a second ago. The bottle burst open, spraying champagne and glass bits everywhere.

I felt some of them hit me in the head, neck, and most of my exposed back. I didn't feel any pain in that moment. Later, it would smart like hell.

My old man had already grabbed another bottle out of the private stash, the same stash he always said he was saving for a special occasion. Guess I never figured that special occasion would involve tryin' to smash my brains out.

"Get the hell out of this house!" he shouted, just before he threw the bottle.

I got the hell out of dodge, believe me. I don't know how I managed to get out of the apartment. I was shit scared, let me tell you. I managed it, somehow or other.

I ran for blocks. I don't remember running at all, to tell you the truth. One minute, I was staring down a champagne bottle at my own father, and the next, I was layin' in a heap in an alley several blocks away, cryin' my eyes out.

I always knew my father was a piece of work, but I just never figured he'd actually have the guts to kick me out. We were family, after all. You know? Turns out that wasn't enough.

I kept thinkin' a lot in the weeks to come about Mom. Mom had died in a car accident months before. Before the accident, everything was humpty dandy. We were all one big happy family, the three of us. I was happy to be daddy's and mommy's little girl. After the accident, though, everything changed. Dad started drinkin' and used up a good deal of our rent fees in liquor. It certainly didn't help matters when Mom's all high-and-mighty rich brother, who always hated Dad's guts, swooped in with his lawyers and took away everything that was Mom's. See, Mom didn't have a will, and somehow, Uncle Jerry managed to prove that my Dad wasn't the rightful owner of over half of our stuff.

It got a lot worse after that. Dad started drinkin' almost every minute he was at home. He stopped goin' to work regularly, even. I'd long since dropped out of school by that point; there hadn't seen a point to stayin' after Mom died. I spent most of my time out on the town, just to stay away from Dad.

It all just got worse and worse until that night that he kicked me out for good.

I spent weeks after that at friend's houses and hang-outs. I wasn't a Virgin before he kicked me out - that had long since been taken care of. I took every chance I could to knick off a few bucks from riled-up fellas. Sometimes, I went to bed with them. I learned all sorts of tricks, and I learned how to stay in control. It was easier for me then than it ever had been, although I never really thought about it much. I was suddenly stronger than I'd ever been before, but I didn't really care. As long as a fella could keep his pants on long enough to buy me a drink or a meal, or give me enough time to steal the money from 'em, I was fine.

Sometimes, though, I'd find a spot and just bawl my guts out. I missed my old life, during those times. Most of the time, though, I didn't think about it. There was no point to, anyway. Those days were gone. That was the old me, and I was never gettin' back, no way no how.

At first, when he approached me, I figured he was just another in a long line. After all, when a guy looks at me, his priorities shift from his brain to something a lot further down. I had shrugged. I'd known older and stuffier men than him, and it hadn't taken long to work the ol' Faith charm on them.

This guy, though, was different. Oh, he was interested, don't get me wrong. I could tell just by lookin' down. He was awful persistent, too. He said his name was Quentin Travers, and he kept goin' on and on about me bein' chosen for something. I figured he was one of those door-to-door salesmen types or somethin', although if that was the case, what he was doin' in that part of town was beyond me. But, nope, that wasn't what he was. He was a Watcher, whatever that meant. I tried to shrug him off, but he still wouldn't get a clue. Finally, I just listened, hopin' that if I did, that he'd either back off or listen to what his body was tellin' him. I was in the mood for some serious humpin' that night. I'd just woken up only an hour ago and I had some serious energy to kill, and if it had to be with him, it would have been five by five with me.

Then he started in on this whole speech about me bein' the Chosen One. Whatever. I figured the guy was totally off his rocker.

During this whole time, we'd been walkin' along down one street and then another. I wasn't walkin' to any place in particular; I just wanted to find some way of dumpin' this guy.

Suddenly, this guy with a messed-up face bursts out of a doorway. He actually growls, and I'm like, "What the f***?"

Quentin is shoutin' at me to stab messed-up face guy with a stake, and I'm thinkin' this guy really needs some serious counseling. Suddenly, screwed-face is attacking me. Instincts I'd had for weeks now, that had felt like I'd had for my whole life, took over, and I was fighting back and holding my own. He was wicked strong, too. It was then, I think, when I finally realized that he was the first guy I'd met in all those weeks who was as strong as me.

Watcher-guy suddenly tosses me a stick sharpened at one tip. I grab it and, before I even know what I'm doin', I was plunging the stake through screwed-face's chest.

I don't know who was more surprised, me or him. I'm pretty sure it was me. I so was not expectin' that guy to suddenly burst into dust, like somethin' out of a really bad B-rated movie.

I stood there, stunned, and I think Watcher-guy saw it as his chance to finally say his piece, 'cause that's when he really laid it on me. He gave the whole speech all over again, and I finally listened.

I, Faith, was a Slayer. I wasn't _the _Slayer, but there was only one other girl like me.

My whole life had turned upside yet again, and I had no idea what would happen next. I didn't stop screwin' around and all that, but a good deal of my time was spent around dead bodies and graves from then on. It wasn't the best change of scenery, but it was somethin'. My life had kind-of gained meaning, and it turned out that while Mr. Travers was as stuffy as he made out to be, my assigned Watcher wasn't.

I never cried over Mom again after that, not for years to come. She was part of the old me's life. That was the past, now. I'd found the new me.

THE END


End file.
